Oh My Golly Gosh! Time has just flown by! I meant to write...but it got so busy...How many times have you heard that line before! And the award for the category "Originality in making excuses" does not go to this blogger!
So i'm going to take a very humble very low, forehead to the ground bow and apologise; I'm sorry.
Shabd has grown in leaps and bounds these past few months. When we went to South Africa in August 2014, he was stringing some words together and we guessed what he was saying like "Mummy hungry" which meant "mummy, I'm hungry".
He returned from SA early November, after weeks of being asked to "please use your words Shabd", being very articulate in both stringing words together into a coherent sentence and articulating his words wonderfully. He also returned with quite a heavy South African accent i'm told!
Our time in South Africa was a stormy time and we were blessed to have Dips and Desh and Mummy and Kamal and Trishul and Uresh and Tascia to help us brave the storms. There were many tantrums, by us both, and many hugs and "I'm sorry's", by us both and we both learnt an important lesson - sometimes you have to ride the storm even if your head gets pushed under the water, keep riding the storm"
I'm often haunted by self-reproach where i wish i had behaved differently; been calmer, been more patient, more understanding, more more more. But I've come to accept that I'm human and like my sister said to me during a very stormy day, "You're a wonderful mother Varsh! Who else would do what you've done with the same success. Just look at Shabd, he's an absolute joy! That's because of you!" - sisters are the flowers of life aren't they! And to this blogger, my rainbow in the storm!
Friday, 24 April 2015
Wednesday, 10 December 2014
Two going on Twelve
Nounou Lysie mentioned something to me earlier this week. She said that since Shabd came back from South Africa, he has come back a little boy and was not a baby anymore.
He says "Please" and "Thank You". He expresses himself using full sentences. He shares his opinion; "Hmm, I think ..." And is quite fond of the word "No!". "No! I'm still busy. No! I don't want to bath. No! I don't want to sleep."
Just a few minutes ago, i said to Papa that when he takes Shabd to bed, he should switch off the lights so that Shabd would go to sleep. Shabd at that time was in another room, busy drawing on his iPad. Not missing a beat, he piped up, "Don't switch off the light. Leave it on Papa."
How does he do that? His little-little hands are busy, his little-little mind is busy, his little-little eyes are focused on the screen, how does he still follow a conversation being held in another room?! This child just boggles me!
Any-who...i digress. I imagine, following cues from Shabd, that he probably feels like an awkward teenager. Not quite adult and yet not quite child. Only, at two and a half, it's more not quite big boy and yet not quite baby either.
Our behaviour towards Shabd probably doesn't help the situation either as Papa and I constantly fluctuate between cooing over our "little baby" and proudly proclaiming how proud we are of our "big boy".
Nounou and the grandparents are even worse! I often see a look of puzzlement which slowly turns into a smile of wonder when they interact with Shabd.
I can just imagine the internal dialogue going on in their minds. "I must ensure i peel and chop each grape for him. He's a baby and could easily choke. Did he just read out the number plate on that car? Waow!" they whisper, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear!
I think that in the first year of a child's development, there is great amazement as physical milestones are reached. Babies master holding their heads up, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking, running and jumping!
But in the second year, the child's development seems to be more mentally and emotionally focused. Words are strung together more and more coherently, opinions are expressed and feelings are declared.
I've found more and more this year that I've encouraged Shabd to "USE YOUR WORDS!" Of late, we've been exploring feeling frustrated.
Shabd often feels frustrated as he tries to independently navigate our adult world, with high counter tops and even harder to reach places. When he cannot get what he wants independently, no matter how much effort and imagination he puts into reaching his goal, his frustration levels peak and like a volcano he explodes in a spectacular scene of brimstone and fire. As you can imagine, the pitch of the screaming is ear-splitting and will have you running for the hills.
But not this Super Mum! I'm made of tougher stuff!
Super Mum: Shabd, you're a big boy now. You need to USE YOUR WORDS. If you've tried and it isn't working, it's okay. It's okay to feel frustrated and it's okay to ask for help. Okay?
Shabd: Nods slightly and mutters an indiscriminate Hmm.
Super Mum: The next time you're feeling frustrated, i want you to try one more time. If it still doesn't work you must say, "Mummy/Papa can you help me please. I'm feeling frustrated!" (accompanying hand action also shown). Do you understand mummy?
Shabd: Nods slightly and mutters an indiscriminate Hmm. A small smile can be seen lurking around the corners of his mouth.
Thus greatly enthused by this, Super Mum continues.
Super Mum: Shabd, my big boy, can you please tell me what you're going to say the next time you're feeling frustrated?
Shabd: Mummy/Papa can you help me please. I'm feeling fruss-tray-tid! (accompanying hand action proudly done).
Three days after our little talk, Shabd carried a small stool from the bathroom to his bedroom and tried to reach a box of sweets lying on his dresser. Alas, try as he might, the stool was too small and/or he is too short to reach the sweets. I observe this from the peace and tranquility of the TV room and prepare myself mentally for an ear splitting scream.
Instead, i hear the pitter patter of his little feet as he runs to me saying, "Mummy can you help me please. I'm feeling fruss-tray-tid!!"
"With the greatest of pleasure I can my big boy. With the greatest of pleasure!" I say.
He says "Please" and "Thank You". He expresses himself using full sentences. He shares his opinion; "Hmm, I think ..." And is quite fond of the word "No!". "No! I'm still busy. No! I don't want to bath. No! I don't want to sleep."
Just a few minutes ago, i said to Papa that when he takes Shabd to bed, he should switch off the lights so that Shabd would go to sleep. Shabd at that time was in another room, busy drawing on his iPad. Not missing a beat, he piped up, "Don't switch off the light. Leave it on Papa."
How does he do that? His little-little hands are busy, his little-little mind is busy, his little-little eyes are focused on the screen, how does he still follow a conversation being held in another room?! This child just boggles me!
Any-who...i digress. I imagine, following cues from Shabd, that he probably feels like an awkward teenager. Not quite adult and yet not quite child. Only, at two and a half, it's more not quite big boy and yet not quite baby either.
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| Barely 6 days old and basking in the love. |
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| 2 and a half years old and trying to get the tractor to "Move!" |
Our behaviour towards Shabd probably doesn't help the situation either as Papa and I constantly fluctuate between cooing over our "little baby" and proudly proclaiming how proud we are of our "big boy".
Nounou and the grandparents are even worse! I often see a look of puzzlement which slowly turns into a smile of wonder when they interact with Shabd.
I can just imagine the internal dialogue going on in their minds. "I must ensure i peel and chop each grape for him. He's a baby and could easily choke. Did he just read out the number plate on that car? Waow!" they whisper, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear!
I think that in the first year of a child's development, there is great amazement as physical milestones are reached. Babies master holding their heads up, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking, running and jumping!
But in the second year, the child's development seems to be more mentally and emotionally focused. Words are strung together more and more coherently, opinions are expressed and feelings are declared.
I've found more and more this year that I've encouraged Shabd to "USE YOUR WORDS!" Of late, we've been exploring feeling frustrated.
Shabd often feels frustrated as he tries to independently navigate our adult world, with high counter tops and even harder to reach places. When he cannot get what he wants independently, no matter how much effort and imagination he puts into reaching his goal, his frustration levels peak and like a volcano he explodes in a spectacular scene of brimstone and fire. As you can imagine, the pitch of the screaming is ear-splitting and will have you running for the hills.
But not this Super Mum! I'm made of tougher stuff!
Super Mum: Shabd, you're a big boy now. You need to USE YOUR WORDS. If you've tried and it isn't working, it's okay. It's okay to feel frustrated and it's okay to ask for help. Okay?
Shabd: Nods slightly and mutters an indiscriminate Hmm.
Super Mum: The next time you're feeling frustrated, i want you to try one more time. If it still doesn't work you must say, "Mummy/Papa can you help me please. I'm feeling frustrated!" (accompanying hand action also shown). Do you understand mummy?
Shabd: Nods slightly and mutters an indiscriminate Hmm. A small smile can be seen lurking around the corners of his mouth.
Thus greatly enthused by this, Super Mum continues.
Super Mum: Shabd, my big boy, can you please tell me what you're going to say the next time you're feeling frustrated?
Shabd: Mummy/Papa can you help me please. I'm feeling fruss-tray-tid! (accompanying hand action proudly done).
Three days after our little talk, Shabd carried a small stool from the bathroom to his bedroom and tried to reach a box of sweets lying on his dresser. Alas, try as he might, the stool was too small and/or he is too short to reach the sweets. I observe this from the peace and tranquility of the TV room and prepare myself mentally for an ear splitting scream.
Instead, i hear the pitter patter of his little feet as he runs to me saying, "Mummy can you help me please. I'm feeling fruss-tray-tid!!"
"With the greatest of pleasure I can my big boy. With the greatest of pleasure!" I say.
Sunday, 23 November 2014
Our first few days in South Africa, the blu52 way!
Well, as most of you know, I went to South Africa to receive Radiation. Looking back at my blogs, I realized that the blog posts have slowly been dwindling in numbers these past few months, I do apologise for that and for spamming you with information about me. After all, Mom Inc. was created to capture the experience of being a mom to Shabd - the joys, the sorrows, the laughter and the tears.
So...let me tell you a little about going home. I left Mauritius with a heavy heart and yet a spring in my steps. I was leaving my rock behind and going towards the open arms of my family. Talk about mixed feelings! Shabd, being intuitive as always, picked up on this inner confusion and acted up appropriately. There were many a fine screaming contest between the two, both trying desperately to gain control of the other, both testing boundaries, both sure and yet unsure about what to make of our new circumstances.
Dipika and Desh could not have created a more stable home environment for Shabd and I. Living with them forced me to look at how I was living my life, it opened up new frames of reference for me and allowed me to learn many valuable lessons. I'd like to save those for another post.
Did you know that when a pool is green and murky, but you really want it to be clear and blue, there is something called a "Shock treatment" that's given to it, so that it becomes sparkling and blue. Shabd got one of those, the blu52 way!
On our first weekend in SA, Dipika and Desh arranged a huge family get-together and thus the Hansjee's descended on Waterkloof armed with tons of food! Oh the pure JOY! Laughter and smiles and the wonderful aroma's of dokra and bhajia's and masala tea wafted to my nose, making me smile from ear to ear! How I wished my father could have been part of that homecoming party!
So...let me tell you a little about going home. I left Mauritius with a heavy heart and yet a spring in my steps. I was leaving my rock behind and going towards the open arms of my family. Talk about mixed feelings! Shabd, being intuitive as always, picked up on this inner confusion and acted up appropriately. There were many a fine screaming contest between the two, both trying desperately to gain control of the other, both testing boundaries, both sure and yet unsure about what to make of our new circumstances.
Dipika and Desh could not have created a more stable home environment for Shabd and I. Living with them forced me to look at how I was living my life, it opened up new frames of reference for me and allowed me to learn many valuable lessons. I'd like to save those for another post.
Did you know that when a pool is green and murky, but you really want it to be clear and blue, there is something called a "Shock treatment" that's given to it, so that it becomes sparkling and blue. Shabd got one of those, the blu52 way!
On our first weekend in SA, Dipika and Desh arranged a huge family get-together and thus the Hansjee's descended on Waterkloof armed with tons of food! Oh the pure JOY! Laughter and smiles and the wonderful aroma's of dokra and bhajia's and masala tea wafted to my nose, making me smile from ear to ear! How I wished my father could have been part of that homecoming party!
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| The Hansjee's - this Shabd is part of your family. A small shock treatment! |
The girls (his cousins) were on hand to welcome him, and Shabd on his part seemed to enjoy meeting so many new people. He especially enjoyed reconnecting with Ashna masi and Sheetal masi, oh how beautiful these South African women are!
How I wish we could have met each family again. How I wish Shabd could have met and played with Raviva, Ela & Sejal again. Some other time perhaps.
Shabd joined a lovely school called "Kids on the Go" - oh boy! Here came another shock treatment!
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| Bonne Voyage Shabby...we'll miss Petrus & you! |
Shabd absolutely adored Miss Sherry and even tried to convince her that the two of them could drive to Mauritius together. She really was an angel sent to keep Shabd safe and secure tightly enveloped in her wings.
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| "Let's go Miss Sherry." "Where to Shabby?" "On your car to Mau-reee-shis." |
Maybe it's children's little bodies, their sweet hummingbird voices or having brought them into this world and nurtured them from when they weighed nothing more than a fledgling that we as parents feel that a child is fragile. Yes, by all means, "Handle with care" - they are after all a gift from God. But we too often don't realize that children are tough little cookies. Shabd especially so.
We had our moments, and for most of our time there, I felt like the worst mum alive, but that was my demon in my closet that I had to deal with (more about that in yet another post)!
Shabd astounded me. He adapted to living with Dipika masi and Desh masa, excitedly running to the door as soon as he heard the garage door opening screaming "Desh masa is home! Dipika masi is home! Yay!"
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| Heritage Day celebrations by the pool side |
And even though he didn't like being separated from me for half a day when he went to school. Shabd put on a brave face and went to school like a big boy, informing me daily, as he danced a little jig, that he had cried for me none-the-less.
Shabd learnt to speak in full sentences and his repository of words doubled and quadrupled with each passing week. He learnt to jump on the big trampoline and clamber up the big jungle gym without a hint of fear or hesitation.
Shabd leaped forward towards the unknown, he embraced each day not knowing what new adventure awaited him. This little boy showed me day in and day out how I should live my life. If only I had recognized his lesson as he gave them to me, instead of now, in quiet retrospection.
It is said that children are magical, they know how to live life fully. As we grow older, we lose this ability to see the magic and spend the rest of our lives trying to capture that magic again by reminding ourselves to be more child-like!
Ah! to live with a Master and not learn the daily lessons fast enough, this is a lesson in itself don't you think?
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Grandchild Experience, Check! by Guest Blogger Kusum Ba
Sometimes someone comes into your life and just ..... Shabd came to South Africa. I was glad but not expecting much as he would not be spending all his time at my home. I had been warned by my fellow "recent grannies" that you have a strong bond with your grandchild. Being me, i was a bit sceptical. I thought I will have the experience of being with him and in a few weeks time I wil tick off my list,"grandchild experience." I should have paid more attention to my fellow grannies; they are my friends after all- sharing our happy experiences is part of our conversations.
All i could think about is Shabd and his welfare. Is he healthy and when he's sick then it's like why so much medication Varsha? Is it necessary medication? And when he joined the creche I wanted to know how he's coping and he's so young to go to school. Where do all these feelings come from?
Once you reared your children, its suppose to be over with children!! That was Kusum's thinking!! Again God you baffle me. I churned so much water thinking will my children be able to cope through this big bad wolf of a world? Did i raise them well enough to cope, especially after the demise of their dad? During those jungle moments I kept asking God why did he put all these "Mother Instincts" in me?
Dear God, this time I'm not going to ask you "why are you creating those "Grandmother Instincts"? I have grown wiser now.
It takes time to know the nature and personality of a child.The more time I spent with him the more I wanted to be with him. No amount of pain in my joints or tiredness of my feet could stop me from staying away from him. My wise granny friends had advised me to just enjoy the experience, "no comments no criticisms no words, just concentrate on the experience."
My favourite favourite favourite time was story time. He always brought the same two books to be read to him.Through the side of my eyes I would watch his reactions to the story, the pictures, to my tone, inflection, speed and expression. His intense concentration actually made me jealous. I wish i could have at least 10% of that concentration during my mediatition!! Well with that concentration you would surely hear him repeating the story often during the following few days, and you guessed it, with the same speed intonation and expression!!
And now I'm back to my favourite past time - daydreaming of Shabd, his next visit, him as a teenager asking his Trishul mama and Kamal mama to book his ticket toSouth Africa and to come and fetch him at the airport and to take him to his Ba and him surprising me by coming and hugging me unexpectedly as he told his mamas not to tell me of his arrival and him insisting to visit Dipika masi and Desh masa IMMEDIATELY ... and... and...
All i could think about is Shabd and his welfare. Is he healthy and when he's sick then it's like why so much medication Varsha? Is it necessary medication? And when he joined the creche I wanted to know how he's coping and he's so young to go to school. Where do all these feelings come from?
Once you reared your children, its suppose to be over with children!! That was Kusum's thinking!! Again God you baffle me. I churned so much water thinking will my children be able to cope through this big bad wolf of a world? Did i raise them well enough to cope, especially after the demise of their dad? During those jungle moments I kept asking God why did he put all these "Mother Instincts" in me?
Dear God, this time I'm not going to ask you "why are you creating those "Grandmother Instincts"? I have grown wiser now.
It takes time to know the nature and personality of a child.The more time I spent with him the more I wanted to be with him. No amount of pain in my joints or tiredness of my feet could stop me from staying away from him. My wise granny friends had advised me to just enjoy the experience, "no comments no criticisms no words, just concentrate on the experience."
My favourite favourite favourite time was story time. He always brought the same two books to be read to him.Through the side of my eyes I would watch his reactions to the story, the pictures, to my tone, inflection, speed and expression. His intense concentration actually made me jealous. I wish i could have at least 10% of that concentration during my mediatition!! Well with that concentration you would surely hear him repeating the story often during the following few days, and you guessed it, with the same speed intonation and expression!!
And now I'm back to my favourite past time - daydreaming of Shabd, his next visit, him as a teenager asking his Trishul mama and Kamal mama to book his ticket toSouth Africa and to come and fetch him at the airport and to take him to his Ba and him surprising me by coming and hugging me unexpectedly as he told his mamas not to tell me of his arrival and him insisting to visit Dipika masi and Desh masa IMMEDIATELY ... and... and...
Friday, 10 October 2014
Ouchie Kiss for Mummy
Loving one's child unconditionally is easy. Looking past the frustration, tears and tantrums so that one responds in a mindful manner is not that easy. Especially when the one with the frustration, tears and tantrums is me. This has been a dreadful year in many ways. After almost 10 years cancer free, as i stood on the precipice of this historical 10 year mark, my body failed me and i was once again up arms in a monumental battle against it.
Mummy had a big ouchie!
Yet, these past few weeks, between the tears and the tantrums, there have been moments of silent reverie. Times when thoughts have bubbled to the surface begging me to look at my ouchie from different perspectives.
Have i perhaps been unduly harsh with my body by accusing it of failing me again. Have i been too rash by running in Mel Gibson style, face painted blue, brandishing my tomahawk, yelling at the top of my voice, "You may take my life but you will never take my Freedom!"
It is after all MY body. It belongs to me. Just as the saying goes, "we become what we think", could it be that my body was merely following my own self generated albeit unconscious 'body thoughts"? I cannot believe that i would willingly bring this disease upon myself.
When i reflect back on my life these past 10 years, they have been wonderfully happy. During these past 10 years i have learnt about the value of life, and the reason i breathe was born - who can complain of a life where that happens right?
Could it be, that this blemish so marred my take on my beautiful life that i was prepared to shatter myself so i could wage war on myself? I've been told that i am part warrior part princess. I'm part warrior (let's face it, i've always been feisty!) but not part princess. Ever since the birth of Shabd, I've been part Warrior and part Mummy.
I know this because it is a nurturing voice that says to me, "It's okay. You've fought a good battle. It's time to lay down your arms. It's time to be still and listen to your body for it is not your enemy, it is of you and that is holy." Thus it comes to be that with silent tears i pray for an ouchie kiss. The type of ouchie kiss that Shabd demands every time he's hurt.
Shabd: "Mummy! Ouchie!"
Mummy: "Ag shame man! Sorry baby. Where did you get hurt?"
Shabd: "On toes...Kiss."
Being a mother has taught me to be kind, tolerant and forgiving to myself. Had i not been a mother, i would still be fighting and would perhaps have never realised that i needed to be kind and forgiving to myself.
When those little arms reach up to me and wrap themselves tightly around my neck, there are no judgements made, this is pure unconditional love. And when we nestle nose-to-nose, breathing in each others scent, savouring these precious quiet moments together, i wish the world would stop spinning and this memory would stay forever etched in my mind, as fresh as this very moment.
Practising being in the now is easy when Shabd is the teacher. All it takes is your complete and utter surrender to him! Once you've done that, he reminds you that elephants and sprinkler systems are equally fascinating and exciting, both to be greeted with a happy shout and a little jig.
That every bite of your ice-cream should be taken in careful concentration, savouring the taste explosion and sensations that accompany the cold ice-cream.
He is totally and utterly in the now, discovering and savouring and valuing each life experience, devoid of criticism, cynicism and judgements. He is a child.
I cannot imagine Shabd waging war against his body and neither would i ever encourage him to do so.
Sometimes, it takes a child's unconditional love and deliberate mindfulness to set us free. Most times, if we are still long enough, the child becomes the Master.
Mummy had a big ouchie!
Yet, these past few weeks, between the tears and the tantrums, there have been moments of silent reverie. Times when thoughts have bubbled to the surface begging me to look at my ouchie from different perspectives.
Have i perhaps been unduly harsh with my body by accusing it of failing me again. Have i been too rash by running in Mel Gibson style, face painted blue, brandishing my tomahawk, yelling at the top of my voice, "You may take my life but you will never take my Freedom!"
It is after all MY body. It belongs to me. Just as the saying goes, "we become what we think", could it be that my body was merely following my own self generated albeit unconscious 'body thoughts"? I cannot believe that i would willingly bring this disease upon myself.
When i reflect back on my life these past 10 years, they have been wonderfully happy. During these past 10 years i have learnt about the value of life, and the reason i breathe was born - who can complain of a life where that happens right?
Could it be, that this blemish so marred my take on my beautiful life that i was prepared to shatter myself so i could wage war on myself? I've been told that i am part warrior part princess. I'm part warrior (let's face it, i've always been feisty!) but not part princess. Ever since the birth of Shabd, I've been part Warrior and part Mummy.
I know this because it is a nurturing voice that says to me, "It's okay. You've fought a good battle. It's time to lay down your arms. It's time to be still and listen to your body for it is not your enemy, it is of you and that is holy." Thus it comes to be that with silent tears i pray for an ouchie kiss. The type of ouchie kiss that Shabd demands every time he's hurt.
Shabd: "Mummy! Ouchie!"
Mummy: "Ag shame man! Sorry baby. Where did you get hurt?"
Shabd: "On toes...Kiss."
Being a mother has taught me to be kind, tolerant and forgiving to myself. Had i not been a mother, i would still be fighting and would perhaps have never realised that i needed to be kind and forgiving to myself.
When those little arms reach up to me and wrap themselves tightly around my neck, there are no judgements made, this is pure unconditional love. And when we nestle nose-to-nose, breathing in each others scent, savouring these precious quiet moments together, i wish the world would stop spinning and this memory would stay forever etched in my mind, as fresh as this very moment.
Practising being in the now is easy when Shabd is the teacher. All it takes is your complete and utter surrender to him! Once you've done that, he reminds you that elephants and sprinkler systems are equally fascinating and exciting, both to be greeted with a happy shout and a little jig.
That every bite of your ice-cream should be taken in careful concentration, savouring the taste explosion and sensations that accompany the cold ice-cream.
He is totally and utterly in the now, discovering and savouring and valuing each life experience, devoid of criticism, cynicism and judgements. He is a child.
I cannot imagine Shabd waging war against his body and neither would i ever encourage him to do so.
Sometimes, it takes a child's unconditional love and deliberate mindfulness to set us free. Most times, if we are still long enough, the child becomes the Master.
Wednesday, 17 September 2014
It's Okay Mummy
There is no stability, life is constantly in a state of flux. In fact, we are all made of blubber, the whole world is made of blubber and anyone that says otherwise is blubbering!
September has rushed by and I'm ashamed to be writing the first blog for the month now, almost at the end of the month. But deep breath, it's been a challenging month and i need to be more kind to myself, so it's okay!
"It's Okay," two tiny words that mean so much to my little boy. "It's Okay" means that everything is okay with the world as he knows it. As adults, we don't often realise just how small our children are and just how big the world is to them. They rely on us to be their map of the territory, their compass, their companion while navigating new and every challenging but oh so exciting and sometimes scary terrain.
Whenever Shabd and i have a tiff, through his tears and crying he always manages to tug deep into my soul, with his big brown imploring puppy-dog eyes, sobbing "it's okay mummy" over and over to me until i reaffirm "Yes Shabd, it's okay." Two simple words that lets my little boy know that all is well in his little world.
How i wish someone would tell me "it's okay" - that yes, my little world imploded on me 9 months ago with the cancer diagnosis; that yes, weekly chemotherapy is not pleasant; that yes, being operated on twice just weeks apart is gruelling on the body; that yes, having to uproot my family so i can have radiation is frustrating; BUT, IT'S OKAY! And i wish i could believe it.
These past nine months, I've often been called strong and inspirational. I feel i have been neither. I have been a tough mistress to myself, driving myself hard, refusing to accept that my body would or even could fail me, despite the obvious indications that it has! I've allowed myself no indulgences, no forgiveness, no kindness, no compassion. I've turned drill master and ordered myself to get on with it. This was not the place nor the time for tears.
I've come to realise what a great injustice and disservice I've committed to myself. Instead of nurturing me, when i needed it most, i punished myself.
So, after much reflection, this being my birth month, and as we all know one tends to be more pensive around ones birthday, I've come to the great realisation that (drum roll please) i need to nurture my inner child! After all, i would never allow someone else to treat a child the way I've treated myself. Dare i go as far as to say that this behaviour borders on abuse! How dare i deny myself kindness, compassion and love.
When did i stop nurturing myself? When did i stop saying, "It's Okay" to myself? Are these questions important enough to be brought up for close inspection under the spotlight? I might not have been doing this self-nurturing thing right, but the spotlight is on me now...and i see the error of my ways. So instead of beating myself up and entwining myself further into this ball of self-denial, i chose rather to hug myself tightly, Shabd style, and say "It's Okay Varsha, It's Okay."
September has rushed by and I'm ashamed to be writing the first blog for the month now, almost at the end of the month. But deep breath, it's been a challenging month and i need to be more kind to myself, so it's okay!
"It's Okay," two tiny words that mean so much to my little boy. "It's Okay" means that everything is okay with the world as he knows it. As adults, we don't often realise just how small our children are and just how big the world is to them. They rely on us to be their map of the territory, their compass, their companion while navigating new and every challenging but oh so exciting and sometimes scary terrain.
Whenever Shabd and i have a tiff, through his tears and crying he always manages to tug deep into my soul, with his big brown imploring puppy-dog eyes, sobbing "it's okay mummy" over and over to me until i reaffirm "Yes Shabd, it's okay." Two simple words that lets my little boy know that all is well in his little world.
How i wish someone would tell me "it's okay" - that yes, my little world imploded on me 9 months ago with the cancer diagnosis; that yes, weekly chemotherapy is not pleasant; that yes, being operated on twice just weeks apart is gruelling on the body; that yes, having to uproot my family so i can have radiation is frustrating; BUT, IT'S OKAY! And i wish i could believe it.
These past nine months, I've often been called strong and inspirational. I feel i have been neither. I have been a tough mistress to myself, driving myself hard, refusing to accept that my body would or even could fail me, despite the obvious indications that it has! I've allowed myself no indulgences, no forgiveness, no kindness, no compassion. I've turned drill master and ordered myself to get on with it. This was not the place nor the time for tears.
I've come to realise what a great injustice and disservice I've committed to myself. Instead of nurturing me, when i needed it most, i punished myself.
So, after much reflection, this being my birth month, and as we all know one tends to be more pensive around ones birthday, I've come to the great realisation that (drum roll please) i need to nurture my inner child! After all, i would never allow someone else to treat a child the way I've treated myself. Dare i go as far as to say that this behaviour borders on abuse! How dare i deny myself kindness, compassion and love.
When did i stop nurturing myself? When did i stop saying, "It's Okay" to myself? Are these questions important enough to be brought up for close inspection under the spotlight? I might not have been doing this self-nurturing thing right, but the spotlight is on me now...and i see the error of my ways. So instead of beating myself up and entwining myself further into this ball of self-denial, i chose rather to hug myself tightly, Shabd style, and say "It's Okay Varsha, It's Okay."
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